The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

“Stripey! Stripey! We’re in trouble! Big trouble!”

The duck demon assigned to sell siphoned-off food at the market this morning came flapping and squawking into view overhead. On the ground, Stripey, who’d been overseeing the unloading and displaying of today’s shipment, lifted his head, assessed the duck demon’s flight pattern in a flash, and waddled a few steps to the side.

It was a wise move.

The duck demon crash-landed right where he’d been a moment ago. Feathers stuck out all over her body, making her look like a cat that just spotted a wolf.

Taila giggled. “Miss Ducky! Your feathers are aaaaaaaall messed up!”

After weeks of concerted effort, I’d finally managed to teach her that animals came in more than one gender and that not all of them should be addressed as “Mr. [Animal].” One more step towards training her to be a natural philosopher! Not, of course, that any of the duck demons appreciated or even noticed the improvement.

“If you don’t practice your landings, you’re going to make me think you’re Anasius,” Stripey remarked.

The duck demon shook herself to resettle her feathers. “No, no, you don’t understand! We’re in big trouble! Really big trouble!”

Something about that panicky phrasing rang a bell in my mind. If you took away the duck and replaced her with a frog spirit, if you took away the backdrop of Honeysuckle Croft and replaced it with the audience chamber of the Black Sand Creek Water Court….

I already knew what her next words would be.

“The mage is back! The same mage! The one who came to bring rain last time!”

Where is she now? I demanded a split second before Stripey did.

“In the marketplace! She was buying a roasted sweet potato from Mistress Khun and asking about jobs in the area!”

The effect on the bandits was instantaneous.

“We have to disappear!”

“We have to hide everything!”

“Quack! Quack quack quack quack!” shrieked a bandit who was so upset he reverted to Duck.

The first duck demon spread her wings and waved them, sending more loose feathers flying. I lumbered over and inspected the smaller ones, thinking that maybe we could stuff a pillow with them. Alas, they were all too hard.

“And that’s not all! She didn’t come alone this time! She has a cat with her this time!”

Considering that we had a cat colony right in town, that didn’t seem like as big a deal as the mage herself. Master Gravitas would keep any cat outsiders in check. That was his whole job as the local alpha male. But maybe bird types saw things differently.

I glanced at Stripey to check his reaction, only to find that he’d pulled up one leg and was standing on one foot in a thinking pose. Oh no! If the duck demons went into hiding, who was going to deliver food every day?

Are you sure the mage is here for you? I soothed them. Couldn’t she be here for something else? After all, she didn’t bother you last time, did she? Maybe the baron hired her for agricultural reasons. Like last time.

Although – if the mage were here not to stamp out the bandits but to harass Yulus on behalf of Baron Claymouth again, would the dragon king discontinue the food shipments? We were far enough into spring that the Jeks would no longer starve to death, but the dietary improvement was having a noticeable effect on their energy levels and overall health. I was unwilling to give those up.

“Hmmm” came Stripey’s noncommittal reply. The other bandits shuffled from foot to foot and bobbed their heads.

Obviously, they’d already convinced themselves that the mage was out to get them, so I changed tack. Don’t worry, she’s not much of a mage. I used to live in Black Sand Creek. I watched her fight the dragon king’s shrimp and frog guards last time. She can’t do much.

Honestly, the shrimp and frog guards couldn’t either, but Stripey was a much more competent leader than Captains Carpa and Carpio combined. Even if I hadn’t seen the bandits in combat, I had no doubt that they formed a much more disciplined and cohesive unit.

When Stripey spoke at last, I didn’t like what he had to say. “She doesn’t need to be a good mage to disrupt our activities. If word gets out that there’s a magical war going on between a mage and a band of spirits in this area, travelers are going to stay far away until it dies down.”

Oh no! Double oh no! If merchants avoided the Claymouth Barony, that would have a significant negative impact on the region’s economy and hence the humans’ lives and hence my karma count.

But without any evidence, you shouldn’t just assume that she’s here for you. I met each duck demon’s eyes in turn, finishing with Stripey. She might be here for something else. In fact, she’s probably here for something else. We should find out what it is before we decide on a course of action.

“Mmmm.” He thought for one moment longer, then lowered his foot to the ground, signaling that he’d made a decision. The other bandits waddled closer. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. I will ask Anasius if the baron hired the mage, and if so, for what. You and you – ” he pointed at the oldest ducks – “transform into humans and pretend to be travelers. Mingle in the marketplace and learn anything you can about the mage. The rest of you, hide our loot and go to ground.”

Well, that sounded like they wouldn’t be playing delivery ducks for the next while.

I harbored hope that Yulus would hire replacement couriers, but with the threat of the mage hanging over everyone, Nagi prevailed upon him to stop interfering with another lord’s subjects. The food shipments ceased.

And there went my efforts to improve the Jeks’ diet. Sigh.

Two moons ago

In the town of Roseberry Topping, Roseberry Duchy, North Serica

Boot, ebony-and-black tabby and alumna of the Schola Sericae Septentrionalis Pro Felibus, lay sprawled across the front step of the cat spirits’ headquarters. Over her head swung a faded wooden sign with a paint blob that had once semi-resembled a loaf of bread. But that was okay. The Bread & Bun Bakery’s true advertisement was the scent of fresh bread and steamed buns that wafted out the door to fill Peach Alley and drift down Teak Lane all the way to Main Street, swept along by the crisp, late-winter breeze.

Well, actually, the true true advertisement, if you knew what to look for, was the colony of cats that lived in and around the bakery and hung out inside the shop itself. But of course, very few people ever knew what to look for.

“Boo-oot! Boot Boot!” sang a girl’s voice from inside the bakery.

Chirp! answered Boot, practicing the greeting that mortal cats gave to other cats. Then, since the baker’s apprentice wasn’t a cat, she revised it to a lazy, Mreeeeow!

She flopped onto her back and stretched out even further, drooping off the step on both ends. Then, with a practiced flip, she was on her feet and strolling through the doorway.

There were two customers, whom Boot had already marked when they stepped over her to enter the shop. Around their ankles milled a good dozen tabbies, calicos, tortoiseshells, and solid black or grey cats, meowing and purring and begging for food. One customer was a regular, Mistress Baita, a scribe with a terrible sweet tooth who saved her earnings and came every fortnight to treat herself to a fancy bun. The other was Floridiana, a traveling mage who bought seal paste from the mage supply shop next door and dropped by the bakery whenever she was in Roseberry Duchy.

Neither knew that Boot was a cat spirit, not a mortal cat, so she meowed again at the baker’s apprentice.

Pinky, a sixteen-year-old human girl, crouched, scooped her up, and rubbed her cheek against the top of Boot’s head. (Boot was very proud of her soft, silky fur.) “Boot-baby! Who’s a good kitty? Who’s a good kitty? C’mon, time for breakfast!” Propping her chin on Boot’s head, she beamed at Mistress Baita and Mage Floridiana. “Be back in a sec!”

Accustomed to the Bread & Bun’s eccentric operating procedures, the customers smiled and nodded. “Take your time,” they chorused.

In the kitchen, the Bread & Bun’s human proprietress, Mistress Yea, was kneading a giant mass of dough for fancy breads, the ones that used milk and butter and sugar. Next to her was a proving basket full of striped, orange fur.

Pinky set Boot on the floor. “There you go!” she said loudly so her voice would carry back into the shop. “Eat up!” Then she headed back out front.

The striped, orange fur in the proving basket roiled. A pair of jade-green eyes rose over the edge and regarded Boot. The rest of the cat colony’s queen flowed out of the basket and waterfalled onto the floor.

“Agent Boot. I have a posting for you.”

A posting! Finally! Boot had been waiting for her first mission ever since she passed the Schola’s tests and fooled all the customers at the Bread & Bun, even the sharp-eyed Pan twins, into believing she was a mortal cat! (To anyone who raised dubious eyebrows over the difficulty of aforementioned tests, the Schola’s students and alumni had only this to say: “You try pretending to be a normal cat when you haven’t been one for over a hundred years.”)

“Yes, Lady Tricae! You can count on me!”

The cat queen’s brief pause indicated that she had never expected anything less. “Agent Pinky has received a message from one of our informants in East Serica about unusual occurrences in the Claymouth Barony. A family of perfectly normal human farmers suddenly started engaging in unusual activities. Rumor has it that there is demonic involvement. You will investigate this family.”

Demons! In East Serica! Claymouth Barony was clear on the other side of the country from the border with North Serica, but if the demons joined the East Serican army to attack….

“What sort of unusual activities?” Boot asked. Her tail twitched from side to side.

“Their speech patterns changed abruptly. They now speak like aristocrats from hundreds of years ago. Some have suggested from the Empire, even, although you will investigate that. In addition, they suddenly decided to move their livestock out of their cottage and built a pigsty and a chicken coop.”

“Is that so unusual?” As far as Boot knew, farmers tended to build pigsties and chicken coops. It was a lot more hygienic than bedding down with the livestock.

“For Claymouth, yes.”

Both cat spirits wrinkled their noses.

“The most telling piece of intelligence is that the style of the chicken coop is one from the northwest of Serica as a whole. Not of East Serica.”

Boot’s eyes went round. “Is there any indication that these farmers interacted with someone who traveled there?”

“Not that our informant could uncover. But again, that is something you will determine.”

“Okay. Okay.” Boot nodded to herself, strategizing how she would investigate this family. “Who is this informant? Can I count on them for assistance?”

“Master Gravitas. The local carpenter. He will be expecting an agent to contact him, although you should use him sparingly. It is not easy to insert agents so far to the east.”

“Of course. I won’t do anything to compromise him.”

“I have arranged for you to travel there with Mage Floridiana. She is headed in that direction anyway.”

No wonder the mage had been standing in front of the rolls that kept longer. “She’s not one of our informants, is she?”

“She is, in fact, but on a casual, case-by-case basis. So be careful how much you reveal about the Schola. All she has been told is that there is trouble brewing between Baron Claymouth and the Dragon King of Caltrop Pond, which offers a source of potential employment for her. That, in addition to her usual fee, is sufficient inducement for her to travel that way, taking you with her. You will be her pet, a cat she adopted during her travels.”

“Sounds straightforward enough,” Boot replied, trying to sound casual. Excitement got the better of her, and her tail lashed once before she got it back under control. “You can count on me, Lady Tricae! I won’t let you down!”

The spymistress of North Serica inclined her head. “See that you do not.”